My Familiar! Love Magic! Minuet x Reader
by MidnightNatasha
Summary: Paris is the Sun. Minuet is the Moon. One is barely concealed darkness. The other is unseen luminescence. One question. Two answers. Who will kindle the fire that burns in (Name)'s heart? (Rated Mature for POSSIBLE appearances of mild gore, sexual themes and/or cussing. Not suitable for younger ages, as there is no guarantee this will stay child-friendly).
1. And then it all went wrong

_A/N: Yeah, me too. I hate these. Just some things to clear up before you read this. Of course, if you couldn't care less about WHAT you read, you are very welcome to just skip the bold parts of this chapter. Some warnings to include are:_

 _1)This fic goes by the storyline of Love Magic. Soo... SPOILERS, SPOILERS EVERYWHERE! RING THE ALARM BELLS, DEPLOY ALL PERSONNEL!_

 _Seriously though? There ar of spoilers here, so I suggest you play the game before you even attempt to read this fic._

 _2) LGBT characters ARE included in this fic. I'm sure some people reading this are rolling their eyeballs at this "warning" in faint disgust. Seriously? In 2017 (NOW 2018 LOL)? There's still a need to warn people about the diverse sexuality of some characters? Believe me, there are. If you don't like the idea of being gay, the exit is on the left._

 _P.S: Love Magic 2 includes gay characters lol. Just in case you didn't pick on that already._

 _You didn't have to wait long for that spoiler, did you?_

 _3) I genuinely don't know how far I'll go. I get carried away when writing — and things can get from 0 to 100 real quick bwahahahaha. I don't want you stumbling into here expecting fluff, and then getting an accidental side serving of lemon. While I severely doubt it'll get to this, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED._

 _4) I'm unsure as to how often I'll update? I have a notebook with HEAPS and HEAPS of ideas that I have yet to slot in. All in due time, I suppose._

 _5) And finally, this is my first fanfic, so the updates may come slowly because of other commitments. Constructive criticism would be appreciated- but be aware that the main character (you!) may be portrayed a little differently from the game. Considering I have no idea how MC will react to certain things._

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Barely concealed moans slip past my lips as I collapse at the foot of my bed, curling up into a ball— as though shielding my sudden moment of weakness from the world.

"Why..?"

 _"Why?!"_

Shoulders shaking from suppressed sobs, I draw myself up into a sitting position; tucking my knees beneath my chin and wrapping my arms around them as unshed tears swim around my irises; blurring my vision completely until they spill over, one by one.

 _Breathe._

I simply could not.

 _Breathe in._

That's it.

 _Breathe out._

A wail of utter despair and sadness and every other emotion in between burst through the dam I created to avoid stressing my mother out in the car.

Shakily, I draw myself up, settling at the base of my bed, running quaking finger through my locks and wiping away the last of the tears with the sleeve of my cardigan. I know that if I were to venture downstairs I'd find mother busying herself in the kitchen; crying silently when, thinking nobody can see her. I know I'd find my best friend, June, curled up on the sofa with a book, already absorbed within the fictitious dream life within it, and I know, I _know_ that I'd walk straight outside, to soak in the sun and escape the mournful atmosphere inside, constricting my chest until I could no longer _breathe_. I know I'd marvel at how the world would continue to spin on its axis, and how everybody would go along with their daily lives without a care in the world for my suffering.

I shake with suppressed rage, my hand clenching to form a tightly formed fist. _How could they?_

But I know that it is nobody's fault.

Life would only give me a fleeting backwards glance and walk away, leaving my sorrowful, dejected state behind. My only choice is to continue to pave on forwards.

Even if it means leaving Grandmama's death behind.

Sinking into the plushy comfort of my pillows, closing my eyes, I succumb into the darkness.


	2. Restless Nights

I abruptly wake up in cold sweat, panting, my sudden movement causing the curled up ball of black fur resting on my lap to jump off my lap with a startled hiss. Indignant, he fixes me with a blank stare, eyes visibly softening as he perceives the mess I am in.

'S-sorry about that, Minuet...' I trail off, before burying my face in my hands. I haven't had a nightmare in a _long_ while, not since my _'date'_ with Paris.

 _Paris._

 _ **Why**_ _did I ever trust you?_

A pang of betrayal causes me to grit my teeth and blink away the gathering moisture in my eyes.

 _No,_ I won't waste a single tear on that bastard. I will _not_ stand to give him the satisfaction of hurting me, nor will I admit that what he did hurt.

 _Really_ hurt.

A mixture of revulsion and anger at his tricks, lies and deceit is enough to make me hate him all over again- but the trust I had so willingly put in him upsets me beyond comprehension.

Sick, vile, deceptive, deceiving, all this hidden within a perfect body. He was flawless on the outside, and terribly disfigured on the inside.

How was _I_ to know that he was truly a monster?

All while these thoughts whirl around in a tumbled, raging storm within my head, I don't notice the bed dip down slightly and give way for extra weight. Something- or rather someone- gently pats my head, causing me to look up in confusion.

Minuet is faced towards the window, the full moon casting his face in an unearthly glow. Each beam of light defines his features, from the dip of his collarbone to his long, luscious eyelashes casting shadows upon his cheekbones. His hand continues to gently stroke my hair, before it slowly drops. Almost hesitantly, he reaches for my hands curled upon my lap, and gently holds them, finger entwined with mine.

'Nightmare?'

'Yes.' I confirm, allowing myself to absorb the fact that he's holding my hand- my _hand-_ as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. Minuet wasn't one for physical contact, or any type of contact, really.

I squeeze my eyes shut as flashbacks of my terrifying encounter with reality penetrates my thoughts forcefully, clouding my mind and heart with the unforgettable feeling of betrayal, once again.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 _'We_ _ **will**_ _dance, Paris Templar, and on my terms, not yours.'_

 _'Yeah?' Eyes flashing with amused disgust, he raises his voice slightly. 'You can eat the dirt off my shoes, then.'_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _'A cat demon? This is a better haul than expected.' A malicious smile graces Illion's lips, turning into a sneer at the outraged howl of Minuet._

 _'YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!'_

 **.**

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _'June could have been KILLED.' I thunder._

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

Minuet slips his hand under my chin, tilting my face upwards to meet his smoldering gaze. My breathing hitches as I stare into his emerald orbs. It's almost luminescent- which is a given considering he is part cat- but the all the same. I can't find enough oxygen to breathe.

His eyes search mine, and comes to a conclusion.

'It's _him_ again, isn't it?' The finality in which he says this makes it sound more like a statement than a question. Nevertheless, I nod mutely, unable to find the voice to reply.

He sighs, before leaning forwards and resting his forehead against mine.

'It's been three weeks,' he murmurs quietly. 'You haven't had a nightmare in _days._ ' He's correct. I'm certain I've had more than enough time to recover from the shock of Paris's actions.

'I-I don't know what brought this on either. I mean, I thought I had _finally_ gotten over June almost dying...' I sigh. It's a lost cause. I know it would only be a matter of time before I have to try and befriend Paris in order to understand the methods and motives of his kind.Yet I can't even bring myself to so much as _talk_ to him. Especially because of June.

 _ **Especially**_ because of June.

'People like Paris don't care about who they eliminate in their path. It's the catch that counts.' At this, he breaks physical contact, resorting to stare out of the bedroom window silently.

I could've sworn I saw unimaginable torment and grief for a fleeting moment.

At this I feel a stab of pain, and a burning desire to understand. _What did he go through in the past?_

Perhaps it was because of this which brings me to do what I did. I slip out of my covers and swing my legs over the side of my bed, shuffling over to press myself next to Minuet. Tilting my face to the left, I reach out to squeeze his hand softly, as if to say,

 _ **I'm here for you.**_

'I'm getting better.' _He won't hurt me any longer._

'I hope so.' _He doesn't deserve your tears._

Minuet leans over to brush a strand of (h/c) colored hair out of my eye, something akin to tenderness in his vivid green hues. His lips curl up into a half smile, and I keep my gaze locked fixedly on his eyes, drowning slowly in liquid pools of viridescent green...

 _Drowning..._

 _Drowning..._

There is no more than five inches space between Minuet and I, and the distance between us is rapidly closing. My eyes flutter shut; the warmth of Minuet's breath mingles with mine, the rapid pounding of my heart counting down the milliseconds that would inevitably draw us together-

I feel something softly brush my forehead- _huh?_

My eyes snap open- only to see a teasing smile grace his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes.

 _'Goodnight, (y/n).'_


	3. Coincidence?

It has become routine, for us.

For him? To leave a good few minutes earlier than me.

For me? To—

'Where are my earphones?'

' _I don't know,_ check under your bed or something.'

'It's never— oh.'

For me? To get into an argument because I'm SO DAMN STRESSED.

'...You're just cranky because of the assignment with Paris. Calm _down_ —'

' _No!_ I was up studying spells all night, you know that!' There's a difference between stress and anger, Minuet.

'Good on your safety, bad on your health. I told you to catch a few hours of sleep, but you're far too stubborn to listen...' Starts Minuet, in a failing attempt to make me see sense; albeit in an _unbelievably_ irritating way.

'Well, that's all very well and good of _you_ to say, but I value my life more than sleep, thank you very much. As you can see, I'm a little too preoccupied with keeping us alive!' I snap, glaring daggers at the infuriating smile on the former's face. Staying awake all night had its effects, and it was particularly nasty in my case. I feel like I've come down with an exceptionally bad case of the flu— just without the hacking death coughs.

'Keeping _yourself_ alive,' Minuet corrects, and flashes a crescent-moon grin at the scowl shot his way.

'Because I'm the one in close proximity of him and you aren't? Let's swap, _homeboy_.' I huff, placing both hands on my hips, arching one eyebrow at his cheek. The almost smirk on his face disappears as his brows draw together in thoughtful consideration.

'You say that as if it's a bad thing. Wasn't your initial plan to get closer to him so that he trusts you?' He asks pensively, titling his head to the side, dark curls brushing his exposed collarbone. My hands grip my sides tightly, eyes locking onto his, distress swimming about my irises— with something darker beneath the surface.

'But not like this!' I gasp aloud, causing Minuet to blink in surprise.

'I wanted to plan it out, step by step, evaluate my decisions, leave no space for mistakes. Having this thrown at me out of the blue... I don't know what to do!' I fret as I pace back and forth, wringing my hands together as Minuet follows my frantic pacing with slight concern.

Perhaps he should not have provoked me so, it was clear that the trauma of _that_ night hadn't worn off yet.

'I can't help being nervous! I haven't talked to him in days—no, weeks! How do I come across as normal to somebody I've been purposefully avoiding?' I continue, a surge of anxiety doing nothing to settle my frayed nerves. Stopping mid-way, I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands wearily, briefly considering taking the day off. Before I can dwell on that possibility, Minuet speaks quietly, piercing the strained silence after my proclamation.

'This an opportunity. You had to talk to him sooner or later.' Minuet's tone is gentle, reassuring even, a vast contrast from the teasing tone he adopted earlier.

'I prefer a later; a later when I'm prepared,' I mumble into my hands, earning a chuckle from him which ends as soon as it comes. The tense silence continues, only ending once I exhale loudly and drop my hands.

I make for the door, my hand enclosing around it's brass surface — and several things happen at once.

Warmth envelopes my hand on the doorknob as I step back, colliding into something— or rather someone— causing me to cry out in surprise. My eyes stay trained on the hand wrapped around my own for longer than necessary, unable to comprehend the situation I'm in. It's slightly pale, but larger, encompassing my hand fully, leaving only my fingers visible.

Warmth rushes over my ear, causing me to shiver involuntarily as he speaks.

'He wouldn't dare doing _anything._ I'll make sure of it.' His voice, hushed, lips poised in front of my ear, his hair tickling my neck.

But it was _warmth_ I felt when he said that.

I turn around, and bury my face into his neck, my arms circling around his back, feeling his taut muscles stiffen slightly under my touch. He relaxes, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chin resting in my hair, tucking me into his chest. His fingers nimbly run through my (h/l) (h/c) hair, smoothing it out from its frazzled state.

It was somewhat surreal to be in this position with _who else_ than Minuet, who else than the boy I always quarrel with, who else than the one I wouldn't trade the world for, who else than my...

Than my...?

His chest vibrates with a low hum as he murmurs the very words I want to, _need_ to, hear.

'You can do this.'

'I know,' I whisper quietly.

'I won't let him touch you.'

'I _know_ ,' I whisper brokenly, my barely audible cracking.

'I'd trade places with you willingly... but you know I can't.'

 _'I know.'_

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Instead of crying, I laugh shakily, wiping my tear-streaked face with the palm of my hand. Yes, I'm late, but I couldn't care less.

I touch my forehead, a shy smile finding its way onto my face— the memory of his lips on my skin a welcome distraction from my conflicted thoughts.

And as I shoulder my bag, I find myself nodding.

To _hell_ with Paris.

He can't— and he _won't_ — affect me any longer.

And as I shut the door behind me, and cross the street towards my waiting ride, mother peers through the car window, concern written on her features.

'You alright honey?'

I smile. And for the first time in a while, honestly.

'I'm just fine, Mum.'


	4. Liar

It wasn't as tedious as I thought it would be.

Or tedious at all.

It had taken a while for me to calm my nerves before bracing myself to enter the classroom. Opting to smile briefly at anybody I knew before sitting down and going on my phone as always, my grip tightened on the door handle, resolve hardening.

Then falling to a puddle of mush 'cause _goddamn,_ this person could seriously ruin my life.

I'd have to try to keep the prospect of Paris watching me intently out of my mind. While acting like nothing's wrong. Seems like an easy enough task. What could possibly go wrong?

Well for one, I couldn't get to my goddamn seat without almost engaging in a bitch-battle.

I grasped the doorknob to my first lesson, loud noise filtered through the door. Confused, I enter, eyes immediately zoning on the blonde male perched on the edge of his desk, surrounded by a throng of excitable girls. In addition to this, a dark-haired guy sat on his chair, rigid, watching silently at the conversation in front of him.

Wait... _what?_

In utter astonishment, I stand there, mouth hanging open. Minuet's eyes flick to the door to meet mine, smiling faintly before he resumes his one-sided conversation with Paris. Lucky for me, Paris hasn't noticed my arrival and lucky it was too, because I know I'd be clocked immediately by the blonde and forced into conversation against my will.

 _Phew._

Still, it seems like the entire female population has migrated to that one desk, making it impossible for me to make it to my own without kicking up a fuss.

So I just stand there for a while, absorbing the squeals from my female classmates, a bubble of talk and fangirling.

'Oh my Gosh, they're so _cute_! Let me get a photo-'

'He smiled at me! My insignificant soul can rest in peace.' And then a shout; 'Gurl, meditate and chillax.'

'Make way, it's my turn!'

'Why, do you have a ticket?'

'Fuck off Marj, you've been there long enough.'

'Talk about hair goals!'

'Christ, I can hear the instagram models crying in the background. Their eyebrows are on serious fleek.' The sound of a high-five. 'REAL TALK.'

Minuet looks uncomfortable, his posture rigid, but it looks like to the girls that he was enjoying their compliments, due to his unwavering, noncommittal attitude. But I know better.

I suppose Paris forced Minuet into conversation, and it must have turned into something else entirely, what with the absence of the teacher.

'Excuse me- I need to get to my seat!' I exclaim, after shaking myself out of my confused state. I was graciously met with dirty looks and disgruntled stares as I pushed through the crowd, one girl going as far as stomping on my foot accidentally-on-purpose.

'Sorry!' She says, not sounding sorry at all. I resist the urge to smack her across the face. _Rude._

 _You'd think they're meeting celebrities, the way they're acting,_ I think. Shaking my head I settle onto my desk with a sigh. I've escaped without hurting myself... much. I briefly contemplate getting my feet checked out, then think better of it.

No poor soul is getting through that door today.

Glancing back at the scene, I feel a twinge of jealousy replace my feelings of shock. One girl reaches over to gently tug Minuet's hair, and although he'd sent her an unimpressed/annoyed look, _everyone_ laughs (including Paris), the babble of talk (and squeals) ever increasing in volume.

 _What up with that?_

At that moment, my professor bursts into the classroom, dispersing the crowd; many girls typing furiously on their phone, probably sending photos to their friends. Or posting on Snapchat. I wouldn't know.

I'm not sure of who I want to strangle anymore.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

My group consists of Paris, a studious girl who has an uncanny resemblance to June called Hana, and a guy I wasn't familiar with- Ethan.

Tedious? No. Downright terrifying? Yes.

Every time Paris leaned over the table- to borrow a pen for example- left me shaking. I had to fight the impulse to flinch, or the avoidance of eye contact throughout double History, (of all the subjects that should have double lessons- why History?!) or not talk at all. My fight or flight instinct was on hyper-alert. Paris so much as _sneezing_ had me forcing down the irrepressible urge to throw a hex his impeccably-styled hair.

Every time Paris would say something, I forced myself to watch him with what could be perceived as mild interest; smiling when he would smile, nodding with agreement when needed and occasionally putting my own input now and again- only dropping my happy facade once he had safely turned away- which wasn't very often. He was especially interested in what I had to say, and I was sure I wasn't being the _slightest_ bit paranoid.

But for once I thanked my unlucky stars- it was much easier talking under the watch of others. I knew Paris had to be extra careful not to act differently, or they'd sense something was up.

He smiled, he laughed, and I smiled, I laughed.

Only one thought ran through my head.

 _Liar. Two can play that game._


	5. Liar II

I've never cursed a teacher as much as my History professor. In fact, if I'm not careful, the words I mutter angrily under my breath _every few seconds_ could turn into a hex. Nobody openly said that they noticed my ominous aura, but I could've sworn all participants in my group have at least exchanged worried glances once.

Good they didn't ask.

I hate him for making me do this. For throwing me in such a volatile position— I am no longer in control of what could be. For forcing me to be within close range of Paris for prolonged amounts of time. There is no longer a plan— I'd have to improvise. And I _hate_ improvising. All the more to hate my predicament, and the person who's landed me in it.

But of course, I have to accept my fate with nothing more than a tentative smile. After all, what choice do I have?

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Deciding on what topic we'd base our project on wasn't too hard a task.

In fact, the first suggestion was immediately accepted, and that was that.

If only I hadn't felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

'So, what do we do?' Asks Ethan. As though I have the answer.

Silence graces our table for a few brooding moments until it's broken by Hana.

'I was thinking... what if we did something on Ancient Egyptian magic?' Hana suggests, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose.

If I wasn't so preoccupied with the bombshell she's just dropped, I'd have dwelled on the fact that Hana really does seem, look and act like June. She has the same expectant look, almost indifferent attitude. She's constantly burrowed in books— Hana was one of the only females to stay in her seat, oblivious to the commotion made by the other fangirls earlier. When she smiles (which wasn't very often) her face warms up, and, she makes for decent company when she isn't attached to her books. The few differences that Hana does have is her olive skin, large glasses, dull amber eyes, and thick locks of black streaked with natural highlights of brown, all put into a signature bun. She looks like a goddamn librarian. Not to mention the fact that she reads books that I actually understand, contrary to the weird languages that June's fond of reading.

She's one of the few girls that bothered to talk to me. I... wish that I took the time to get to know her better, but there's always a first.

'Do go on.' Paris replies. His smile starts to look mildly sinister.

 _Of all the things we can talk about, we're doing magic?!_ I panic inwardly, desperately wishing the subject hadn't been picked up in the first place. Apart from Paris and Illion, as well as the safety of me, my family and Minuet, magic is at the top of my list of things to worry about.

 _My_ magic, to be precise.

In the few weeks I'd learnt about this new phenomenon, I had to grow accustomed to the fact that what I have is real, and all this isn't part of some elaborate prank. Of course, that thought itself was far-fetched, but at some point I hoped that this was all a lie, this was all false, there was no such thing as witch hunters, and that nobody wanted to kill me. Naturally, I was wrong. The universe is a fucker that likes to prove me wrong a lot.

What courses through my veins is the last gift from grandmama, and there is nothing I can do to get rid of it.

I swore I'd protect me and Minuet (though he'd probably dissolve into hysterics at the idea) with what I have, and that's what I'm doing. Or what I _hope_ to do— if I get out of this alive.

'Wouldn't it be original to do something on the darker aspects of Ancient Egypt... like black magic?' Hana muses. Paris's smile widens, and Ethan leans forwards in his seat, obviously hooked.

'That, hombre, is a decent idea.' Ethan agrees. I force myself to nod. _Hell no._

Ethan is a fair skinned dude, with curly locks of brown slightly shorter than Minuet's, and pale blue eyes— with a height at about 5'7 . They aren't as eccentric as Paris's, but he's still decent-looking.

I haven't paid much attention to him though, and I can see why. He didn't have the bright atmosphere Paris tends to carry around with him wherever he goes, or the quiet stillness Minuet harbours. Yet again, there is always a first.

Currently, he's nodding absent-mindedly at Hana's suggestion, leaning back on his seat as he agrees.

I still can't see why everyone is so adamant on sticking to magic, of all things. Or maybe that's me cursing everyone for being little shits. Today is not my day.

'It is decided.'

AGGHHH, NO IT ISN'T. FUCKITY—

Paris looks at me, as though asking for my approval. I manage a nod, and a devious twinkle overtakes his eyes. His smile is no longer psychotic but gentle, however, that does little to soothe me. I stare coolly back, imitating his smile. It's easier that way, to reflect the emotions of others than to try reach for an emotion that doesn't exist. It would look fake.

And God forbid if I act faker than Paris does.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

'Amulets!' Announces Ethan, triumphantly jabbing his finger into his textbook. It has a photo of an amulet scavenged from a pyramid's ruins, an intricately patterned eye hung on a piece of string.

'What about them?' Asks Hana, lifting her face out of her book. We've had a rare few minutes of silence where we choose which aspect of magic we wanted to research on, and I'm no closer to choosing mine. This distraction is _welcome._

'They were charms used to ward off evil, right?' Ethan points out. 'And some amulets are still used today, so it could easily be linked to the past and present. So I'll look into this more.' He leans back on his chair with a satisfied sigh. Hana raises an eyebrow at him, dragging out her words for emphasis.

'You've still got to takes notes while you can _now_ ,' she counters, jabbing her thumb at the teacher's desk behind her where the History professor sits, brooding over some sort of tragic event that's happened in the past, I guess. He's sad enough for that crap, I sniff to myself self-righteously.

'You know he'll come check up on us. You've got to show progress.'

Ah, yes. One other difference Hana did have to June is her authoritative attitude. At first glance, she seems submissive and quiet— but _oh boy_ , if you truly think that's the truth, you've got another thing comin'. It isn't like June is submissive either, but Hana has a more domineering voice. She's blunt, cut-throat, yet at the same time has a clever way of getting what she wants without people realising they're doing her bidding. This is one of the qualities I admire— and am afraid of, if anything. The girl never seems to regret anything.

'Eh. I take notes in my head.' Ethan replies, closing his eyes.

Hah, lazy. I'm sure he wasn't trying to put on a bad boy I-don't-care front. The dude is monumentally lazy. Prize of the laziest dude in junior year goes to...

Anyway, time is running out, and I know I cannot stall for time any longer. I need a topic and am about to ask Hana for some advice, but Paris beats me to it.

'I'll be basing it off on sorcerers of that time.' Paris pipes up suddenly, glancing up at the table, gaze lingering for a second longer on me. 'What do you think, Hana?' Hana murmurs her approval. Unresponsive, I direct my frown to my book, words swimming around my vision unregistered as I stare at it, unsettled by his announcement.

Well, _shit._

Thanks to prior events, I'm well aware of Paris's ancestry; there was sure to be witch hunters somewhere along the line, and thanks to this very reason, is why I'm stuck in this mess in the first place. I'm also accustomed to the fact that Paris's entire family is most likely on the lookout for any slip-ups from unsuspecting witches such as moi.

But what I hadn't thought about was how far back his family exists, and if they might have kept a record of mages throughout history. And now that I think about it, I can't help but panic again. What if he knows about my ancestry? What if someone beyond grandmama had mingled in the affairs of the Templars? What if, at this very moment, they're keeping tabs on me? That would certainly explain why he's constantly dropping hints.

Or maybe it was just because I'm still suspicious? Him breathing gives him the immediate label of "GUILTY AS FUCK" for me.

As if sensing my _internal struggle_ , Hana nudges me.

'Are you going to focus on Gods?' She enquires, looking over my shoulder at the page I'm currently at. _Oh phew oh phew._

'Y-yes.' I stammer, smiling gratefully. That would certainly be an easier topic to research about— there is sure to be an abundance of information about them on the Internet.

Relieved, I lean back in a similar position to Ethan, relaxing for the first time today. Allowing my mind to wander, I start to doubt myself. Maybe I'm overreacting. I mean, it's not as if I'm not entitled to it. Bastard tried to tie me up as his doll, and God only knows what could have happened had I not panicked and pulled the ninja move that got us out of there.

There's a chance that Paris is only guessing— if he was sure, he'd have acted by now, wouldn't he? He's had plenty of time and chances.

With that occupying my thoughts, my gaze slides to the side. I find myself watching Minuet's table unconsciously.


	6. Truth

Eyes flickering between both him and his group, I watch as Minuet taps his pen on his upper lip, before jotting something down. I feel myself smile at his slightly bent form, furrowed brow, full lips...

 _Anyway_ _._ Like every other group in the room, they are engrossed in conversation- I can hear Ethan and Paris conversing quietly but pay them no mind.

The is a quiet buzz of activity around the room, a calm peace in comparison to the frenzied activity earlier.

Which reminds me.

Previously, when my history professor had announced that we were to make a project (counting for 25% of our grade; _why_ _,_ I have no fucking idea, but all the more reason to worry) in groups of four, everyone had burst into excitable chatter, immediately segregating into groups.

 _Except_ anyone andalmost _everyone_ wanted Paris, or Minuet at the very least.

I say _almost_ because the others that didn't care or want them counted Hana, me (to some extent- having Minuet could blow our cover and DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE FRENCH H-), as well as a few nameless individuals who most likely wished they didn't have to do this in the first place.

So when the History professor had realised that the only way to solve this issue was to put people in random groups- whether they liked it or not _he didn't care_ _-_ the class had gone deathly silent as he jotted down random groups, a strangely determined look on his face.

Frankly, the atmosphere was terrifying.

So as luck would have it, I was called out in the group Paris was in, unwillingly, with a poker-faced Hana and a surprised Ethan.

It was safe to say _neither_ of us wanted to be part of the drama that followed afterwards.

.

.

.

.

'WHY would you put us in groups that we simply CANNOT work in? Do you know how important this grade is to us?!' Marjorie shrieks shrilly, slamming her hands on her desk as she stands up, startling the professor to no end.

Bull~shit. This grade doesn't mean crap to _you_ _,_ your Highness. I feel myself twitch in annoyance. _Drama Queen_.

Marjorie is probably- no, scratch that, she IS the 'IT' girl of this high school. She's stereotypically 'pretty'- at least in the eyes of the boys. She has waist-length hair in a rich hazelnut colour, with natural streaks of light copper throughout. Her hair is usually left to cascade down her back in waves. She has light green eyes to complement her tan- not as vivid as Minuet's but at a slightly more muted shade, like grass

Rich, her father is directly related to the founder of this city.

Yes, this _city._ This _capital_ city.

He's Mayor for the fourth time running, and owns massive estates around the city. I know this because Marjorie would never pass up the opportunity to rub it in our faces.

All the boys hung onto her every word, excluding the small minority. Most girls like to keep in her good graces, but behind those smiles lie drama. The drama Marjorie feasts on. With her around, there is never a dull day.

 _'This is gunna be good,'_ I hear someone whisper behind me. They're right. This would be crazy good if I didn't dislike her attention-seeking ass to begin with. History (although not too bad a subject) is boring alone. With some excitement, however...

'You will be the cause of my failing grade! Not only mine, but everyone else's too! Father WILL hear about this...' Amidst splutters from the professor as Marjorie continues, I roll my eyes hugely.

Somebody pipes up from a few seats directly behind me, stopping her mid-rant. 'We all know you want Paris!' Giggles break out throughout the entire class, the unmistakable tapping of phone screens signalling the spread of a wildfire of rumours.

I have to suppress the urge to laugh as Marjorie whips around, furiously searching the class for the culprit.

.

.

.

.

Her eyes set on me, narrowing for a fraction of a second before turning around once again. The teacher clears his throat, and attempts once again to interrupt the fierce brunette.

'Marjorie, your group is with Nate, Chloe, and Minuet.'

Smart man.

That instantly shuts her up, and she sits down, arms crossed over her chest in an annoyingly self righteous manner.

I shoot Minuet "fuck you're done boi" look, and he shoots a "help me the fuck outta dis" one back. If I had known the extent Marjorie goes to get what she wants, I would have tried to pull him out of there immediately.

.

.

.

.

But now that Marjorie is content with her group, I can't help the nagging thought in the back of my mind. Clearly, she seemed to have thought that I was to blame for the blunt reasoning someone had shouted out earlier.

That wasn't a lie. She wants free access into Paris's pants and we all know that. _Isn't_ _it supposed to be the other way_ _round_ _\- this is_ _Paris_ _we are_ _talking_ _about_ _here._ Nah. Marjorie is always the predator. I may hate Paris with a passion, but I _know_ that in this case, she's to blame.

I just didn't apply that logic to Minuet.

I also know that whoever Marjorie is irritated with, drama at a high scale would follow soon afterwards. This is something I just don't want.

My lips twist in displeasure as Marjorie leans over to whisper something in Minuet's ear, and much to my horror, he laughs.

What'd she say?

I'm starting to hate her more and more by the minute.

.

.

.

.

Sickeningly enough, since Minuet's group is a few metres directly in front of mine, I have to endure an hour of pure hell. Did I mention that Marjorie is a prize flirt? No? Well let me repeat it to you. She's a lot worse that I thought.

Pouts, any excuse to brush her hand against his, hair all of a sudden positioned perfectly for her to twist and tug at it, and an excessive amount of blinking. Or was it that her attempt at batting her eyelashes? She constantly invades his personal space, and I can see that Minuet looks uncomfortable. She becomes bolder, hand resting on his bicep, slowly closing the distance between them before they look like they're... uh... dating? Only for Minuet to jump back, shooting her an irritated glance. She simply dusts herself off, laughing airily, unfazed. Then the process begins all over again.

Could've sworn I heard Minuet's phalanges* scream out in terror.

 _Ew._

He's a freaking cat, Marj. Fuck off before he scratches your eyeballs out.

Hana must have sensed something was wrong because she, to no avail, tries to divert my attention back to the work. I'm grateful for that, but I can't concentrate for crap what with the mini love scene going on in front of us.

Or the assault scene. I feel the protective urge to slam her designer bag into her face, warning her to keep her distance. Goddamnit. Leave. Him. Alone.

But then Paris moves his chair so that instead of being in front of me, but a little to the right, he is now directly in front of me, blocking the table from view.

I don't know whether to thank him profusely or tell him to _get the hell out of my sight_ , because of all the people I could have a full view of, it _definitely_ would not be him.

Haha. To think I'd be more than happy with this arrangement a few weeks ago.

Needless to say, my concentration levels improve. Just a tiny bit.

.

.

.

.

Time speeds by at an _excruciatingly_ slow pace but once the bell rings, signalling lunch, I am thankful.

Jumping to my feet and packing away my textbooks, I bid them farewell.

I need some time alone.

.

.

.

.

Hana blinks at my retreating form.

'Do you think she's alright?' Ethan shrugs, and Paris shakes his head, wordlessly packing away his stuff.

Hana blinks once again at the clearly troubled blonde. What's going on here?

Swinging his backpack across his shoulder, Ethan asks rather flatly, 'We've got plenty of work to do, so when do you propose we meet again?'

She didn't think he had the capacity to bother doing extra work. She must have looked quite surprised because Ethan smirks knowingly.

'How about this Saturday at my house?' Paris suggests. Hana nods, and Ethan doesn't seem too opposed to the idea.

'Shit, I forgot to ask for her number...' Sighs Hana, mentally facepalming. Why didn't she ask earlier?

'It's fine. I'll let her know.' Paris smiles easily, all traces of his unsettled mood earlier vanishing.

.

.

.

.

My day speeds by in a flurry of activity, but I feel restless, almost dreading having to face Minuet again. I'm sure something of my attitude would hint at my inward confusion.

Was I... _jealous_ _?_ Me? I dispel the thought immediately. But it returns, and I'm tempted on thinking about it further.

Right now it's Maths, last period of the day. As I reluctantly pack up to go home, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

June, probably.

Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I'm instead met with text messages from three people. One, an unknown number, and the other two from Paris and Minuet.

Further down is unopened text messages from June.

I'm burning to know what the other three want, but guilt wins out at the end. I cannot keep ignoring my closest friend, even if other priorities bombard me constantly.

.

.

.

.

I feel guilt-ridden as I trudge up to the school roof, regretful for not making more time for June. After all, June was always, _always_ there whenever I needed her. A shoulder to cry on, an extra limb to walk with when I couldn't find the courage in myself to move on. There were _ten_ text messages from June.

She never wrote, or need to write more than three.

》》》●《《《

 _ **JUNE** : __Hey, is something up?_  
 _You_ _didn't_ _come up to the roof._

 _(Y/n)?_  
 _You're_ _constantly_ _attached to your_ _phone_ _, how can_ _you_ _not see_ _these_ _?_

 _Wait, you can forget sometimes._  
 _Haha._  
 _Silly me._  
 _Where are you?_

 _It's_ _me_ _again..._

One more unread message.

》》》●《《《

I lock my phone with a sigh, the guilt practically gnawing at my insides. _I'm_ _so, so sorry June._

My shadow follows me on the spiralling staircase, the setting sun casting a natural, warm glow through the crack of the slightly opened door of the roof.

Hands poised to pull at the door handle, I stop in my tracks.

 _Weird._

It was only ever me or June up on the roof at these hours.

So why do I hear more than one person? I'm temporarily blinded by the setting sun's rays, directly hitting my eyes. I blink a few times, angling my head to the side so that I can peer beyond it.

But what I hear rather than see at first chills me to the bone.

'... Paris, trust me. There wasn't any traces of magic in her house. You've got the wrong person.' _June._

'Perhaps. But isn't it coincidental that "Helen" knew what I liked? Only one, if not two people know that.' _Paris._

'You may be alike in your interests, but that in no shape or form means that (y/n) is to blame! _Perhaps_ you're over-thinking this. _Perhaps_ that was a coincidence. _Perhaps_ you're _wrong_ , Paris Templar.' There is an edge of anger and desperation in June's voice.

 _June._

 _June._

All this time, _all this time_ I was friends with a witch-hunter's accomplice.

Or a witch-hunter herself.

My vision turns hazy, and I find myself leaning against the wall for support. Every fibre of my being is telling me to run, to run and never turn back. But I can't bring myself to.

I have to listen, and hope what I'm hearing is all a ploy- a ploy in which I was not the only victim.

My throat constricting, the sound of crashing tidal waves of blood takes over, heart pounding, the slightly musty scent of the dusty wall and its rushed paint job beneath my hands, shaking.

My senses are on overdrive.

I am being _hunted._ I am the _prey._

And my _best friend_ is the _predator._

I want to scream, shout, do anything, anything at all that hints to having some sort of control over my frozen limbs. But I am stilled to the core.

'June, June, _June_. Sort your feelings of denial out. Your sense of judgement is being clouded by your affection for her. I've seen you hunt other mages without so much of a doubt. This is a first, sweetheart.' His voice is gentle, but also sickly sweet, rolling waves of nausea throughout me. I want to throw up, but I feel surprisingly hollow. Empty.

'... Don't assume anything of the sort.' Comes June's stout reply.

'What is she to you, June?'

My limbs jerked into action, and with uneven breaths I look through the gap, quivering fingers placed on the wall to steady my shaking form.

 _What am I to you June?_

The taller, lean form of Paris towers over hers, and June is directly beneath him, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she stares back, challenging.

The last of the sun's golden rays light up the sky in a bonfire of colours, the billowing clouds in varying shades of pink, both Paris's and June's face temporarily illuminated by the sun.

June's hair is in varying shades of blue, from cyan to a deep azure shade. Paris wraps an arm around her waist, the other hand reaching over to finger a lock of June's hair.

 _"He's quite literally, incandescent."_

'She is...'

And as the distance between them closes, blocking out the rays and shrouding their faces in darkness, only then did I find the strength to step back, soundlessly, vision blurring from the incoming onslaught of tears.

I have to get out of here. Yet I cannot make sense of my surroundings.

 _Where do I go_? My world is lopsided, shaken upside-down against its will.

 _Where am I?!_ _I_ demand an answer from myself and slowly, my surroundings come to focus.

Bolting down the stairs three at a time, how, I have no idea, but with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, fuelled by anger, shock, and anguish, I really do not care.

If I am in trouble, what about mother?

If I am in trouble...

What about _Minuet?_

 _'She is...'_

 _'...my prey.'_

.

.

.

.

*phalanges: a bone of finger or toe. In this case, finger. You're free to image the toes too, can't imagine what Marj was doing under the table smh.


	7. Truth II

I slip into the first shop I see, finding that it's the Café.

Slumping into the first chair visible, I bury my head into my hands, dizzy from a multitude of conflicted thoughts and images. I'm dizzy from the lack of oxygen- I did just sprint all the way from the roof of the school, down the stairs, through a bunch of streets all the way to the Café without pausing to breathe.

Damn. Had this been any other day, I would have been _proud._

It is strangely quiet, which shouldn't be strange at all, considering the fact that this Café isn't very well known. I can faintly hear the sound of far off typing- the Café is directly connected to a Cyber Café with plenty of computers.

The only discernable sound is my rapid breathing as I desperately gulp up as much oxygen, disliking the idea of passing out.

Sealing my lips shut to stop the sound of my sobs, my shoulders shake.

'(Y/n)?'

I raise my head at the familiar voice, and am met with glowing amber orbs. Hana stares down at me, a backpack slung over one shoulder, quizzical.

'What are you doing here?' I manage to choke out before tears spill down my cheeks, dripping in turn onto the embroidered table cloth.

I am so incredibly _sick_ of it all.

Always running, always hiding, always constantly on full alert. The effects of all the coiled up anxiety bursts out of me in one go.

'Oh God... (Y/n), what's wrong?' Hana pulls out a seat next to me, and rummages into her bag for a tissue, offering it to me. I take it gratefully, and wipe away my tears, horrified to find I just can't stop crying.

To her credit, Hana sits patiently next to me, gently patting my back until I calm down sufficiently enough to speak.

'S-sorry... this must be so random for you...' I mumble. The brunette shakes her head, smiling slightly.

'It's fine.' A heartbeat of silence passes by, before Hana speaks.

'D'you want a drink? It's on me.' She offers, gesturing to the menu in front of her.

'Water is fine.' I answer, finding that my throat is parched.

Hana nods, waving over the waiter nearby.

'One cappuccino and water, please.' With that order, the waiter waltzes off.

The air is humming with muted energy, and the sun set is prominent as ever, extending its fingers throughout the Café and bathing it in a warm, unearthly glow. My phone buzzes out of the blue, startling me. Hana giggles quietly at my surprised expression.

Flushing slightly, I pardon myself.

One text message from Cat Boy the screen read.

My lips quirk up slightly at the name.

It was a complete spur-of-the-moment thing, calling Minuet 'Cat Boy'. That phrase amuses me _very_ much, especially since it reminds me of the priceless look he'd given me once I'd accidentally-on-purpose blurted it out.

》》》●《《《

 _ **CAT BOY** :_ _Where are you?_

 _ **ME** : I'm at a Café with a frien_ _d_

 _ **CAT BOY** : __Was is that Ju_ _ne_ _girl?_

 _ **ME** : Uh, no. Not exactly_

 _ **CAT BOY** : __I'm getting fishy vibes from this._  
 _Tell me it's not who I think it is?_

 _ **ME** : Oh no, it's not him. I'm with Hana._  
 _You know, that girl in my group?_

 _ **CAT BOY** :_ _A study session for the project?_  
 _Y_ _ou could have_ _told me sooner_

 _ **ME** : Um_  
 _Well_  
 _Not exactly_ _?_

 _ **CAT BOY** : __What's. Wrong._

 _ **ME** : Nothing..._

 _Never mind. It's something_

 _I've got some... interesting developments to_  
 _talk to you about_

 _But now is not the time_

 _Gotta go, my drink is here_

 _ **CAT BOY** : __Don't you dare_ _leave me hanging after_  
 _t_ _hat sentence._

 _(Y/n)?_

》》》●《《《

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I ignore the insistent buzzing of my phone, and the sinking feeling in my gut.

I ought to excuse myself and go home right now, because both I and Minuet are no longer even _remotely_ safe- not even the slightest bit. My first priority should be to tell him of the events _right_ _now_ and make a plan to avoid getting caught by Paris and...

And...

The rising wetness of tears returns to my eyes. I scoop up the glass of water and gulp it down hurriedly.

'So...' Hana trails off, twirling her straw in her coffee.

'Want to talk about what's bothering you?' I'm tempted to say no, but another part of me wants to disclose everything. To take away the weight off my shoulders, even if it's temporarily.

'Say... y-you thought you knew someone. Say you thought you knew someone better than you knew yourself. And it was the same vice versa. But you're wrong, and it turns out that you don't know them at all.' I start, fiddling with my sleeve, eyes set on the half-empty glass of water.

'What do you do?' Lifting my gaze up, I'm surprised to find Hana with a strangely contemplative expression. _I_ _didn't_ _want her_ _to_ _think too much_ _into_ _this_ _._

'Well for one, I'd try not to jump to conclusions- unless, that is, if it's life threatening, in which case I can pardon myself on that-' _Fuckity._

'But what if it is life-threatening- hypothetically speaking, of course!' I hastily amend my slip up and internally kick myself. _I shouldn't have said that! What if she thinks something suspicious is going on?_

'Well, hypothetically speaking, I would try erasing them from my life. Completely.' Hana returns, and in turn sips her drink.

'But what if you _can't_?' I find myself whispering.

'Then, I'd use the cover of friends and family to protect myself. If this situation is as bad as it is, I'd slowly disentangle myself from it.' I watch in amazement as Hana calmly answers, unfazed by my _questionable_ questions.

'If it's a situation where suspicion is involved I'd try to erase the suspicion.' She continues, eyes following my nervous fidgeting.

'What if I'm...' My voice is getting quieter, but the words are heard nonetheless.

 _'What if I'm going to die? What if I'm no longer safe?'_

Hana answers, her tone betraying her calm demeanour.

'If I'm going to get killed, then either I get other people involved, or I deal with it _myself_.'

We are no longer hypothetically speaking.

.

.

.

.

I don't think of myself as selfless.

The thought of being selfless has _never_ occurred to me.

That quality was for heroes, for the brave, the ones with confidence and unwavering trust in their abilities, in other words...

Someone _not_ like me.

And so I play Otome games where the main protagonist is the ideal, flawless female with a lack of self-esteem and limited belief in their abilities. They are usually in need of a certain "someone" in their lives. The female would eventually grow to become irresistible, showing their worth through acts of courage I never thought I would ever be capable of doing.

Acts that are selfless. Acts that aren't like me.

Sure, I believe that I myself have to somehow contribute to the plot; but all the heavy-loading and hard work hads to be handed onto the significant other.

They were the ones to look up to, and the ones to swoon into the arms of.

 _They_ were the selfless ones. Not me.

 _So why do I feel obligated to throw my life on the line?_

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _But what if this fails?_ I shake that thought out of my head.

'Why... why would you deal with the situation yourself when you could get other people involved?' I already know the answer, but I ask Hana nonetheless, to try alleviate any scepticism. _I can't get other people involved because I harbour a dangerous secret._

 _I can't get other people involved_ _because_ _..._

'Because there are people worth protecting.' Hana answers simply.

And then a pause, '... Hypothetically speaking.'

.

.

.

.

'Thanks again.' I wave, then turn my back to the café in the direction of my house. I feel much lighter from my conversation with Hana. She's pretty therapeutic.

I quickly rush through darkened alleyways, hand enclosed around my phone tightly, getting out of them without any disruptions, much to my relief. I have no intention of staying outside for longer than necessary- my house isn't close by after all.

It's approaching night, and the sky seems ten shades darker than when I'd last seen it. _I must_ _have_ _been chatting_ _with_ _Hana_ _for longer_ _than_ _I thought._

 _Right. A_ _left turn_ _here..._

I make it to the general vicinity of my neighbourhood. A sophisticated diner is just up the road, and a limo has just stopped outside it.

 _Wonder what brings_ _them_ _here._ I saunter closer, intending to pass by quickly and get a peek at whoever this is.

A few hundred metres directly ahead of me, the limo's door opens

And what I see gives me the second heart attack of the day.

.

.

.

.

Paris Templar, like the perfect gentleman he is, stands outside door, hand extended for whoever is to step out.

A slender woman of a height of about 5'6'', vastly booted up thanks to her stilettos (I suspect) steps out, accepting his hand with a gracious smile.

She _exud_ _es_ glamour. A long, regal black dress hugs her figure, with carefully tailored slits on the sides to reveal smooth thighs. Her clothing spares space for some cleavage, complete with criss-crossing straps just about keeping the outfit together at the back. Her hair, a deep set shade of crimson with blue, cat-like eyes as bright as Paris's; staring at him with some warmth; cheeks slightly flushed.

And this isn't the issue. Really. I couldn't care less about Paris's taste. Maybe a few weeks ago but now? Ugh, _no._

It's the fact that the woman _ooze_ _s_ magic. Literally. Ever pore of hers sends out waves of energy reaching out to me despite being positioned a few hundred metres away, frozen.

At this rate, she'd tire herself out. Did she really need to keep up this 'transformation' that much?

Then again, this is exactly what Paris wants.

Ducking into the nearest alleyway, I whip out my phone, hurriedly texting Cat Bo- _Minuet._

》》》●《《《

 _ **ME** : I __think Paris has_ _found_ _new prey._

 _And for once, it's not me tonight._

 _Meet me at the_ _car park_ _of the diner_ _._

 _QUICKLY._


	8. Anticipate

Pocketing my phone, I risk a peek at the duo just about to enter the restaurant.

Illion, a sturdy woman of about 5'4", glossy white hair styled to perfection (as usual) leans against the limousine's door easily, eyes dead set on the mystery woman disappearing through the double glass doors. Paris, having held the door for her, shares a meaningful look with the butler.

My blood runs cold at the sight of a smile spreading on the cold, monotonous expression Illion normally adopts.

And at the faint glimmer of black chains wrapped around Paris's and Illion's wrists, skilfully hidden underneath their sleeves.

I snap out of my stupor, the buzz of my phone signalling an incoming message.

One unread text message from Minuet.

》》》《《《

 _ **CAT BOY** :_ EXPLAIN.

 _ **ME** : I'll explain __more_ _in_ _detail_ _when you_  
 _actually get here._

 _In short, I literally just saw Paris leading_  
 _in_ _a woman_ _heavily cloaked in magic_  
 _into the_ _restaurant_ _._

 _The scent is soo strong!_

 _I can still sense it_ _ffs_

 _It's_ _like she's using_ _massive_ _amounts_  
 _of magic to keep this_ _transformation up._

 _Kinda like I_ _did_ _but not as much magic_  
 _was_ _needed, I guess._

 _Cat Boy is_ _typing_...

》》》《《《

 _He'll be here any minute now. Gotta_ _somehow_ _sneak_ _into_ _the car park right under_ _their_ _noses._

 _... I_ _should have_ _thought this_ _through_ _._

Taking the long route (i.e circling the houses completely as to avoid being seen by that bit— uh, _Illion_ ), I find myself right behind the gates. Vaulting over it with much difficulty (I _am_ wearing my normal school uniform after all), I casually walk between the cars, and duck behind one with enough cover.

》》》●《《《

 _ **CAT BOY** : __Don't_ _enter_ _without me._

 _ **ME** : Like __I'd_ _want to._

》》》●《《《

I sit crouched, watching the entrance for any openings. The entrance fee is £50 ($69.99), and as much as I want to get in, I'm not willing to pay such an extensive amount without eating anything.

The building is large, if anything. At about ten stories high, the building boasts of "authentic Victorian designs" with the "relics of the past still being uncovered to this day". Pft. Please.

The back of the building also has balconies, overlooking a garden— which is also used as a place to dine for those who prefer eating under the sun/stars.

The balconies are rented per person, and has the best view as well as privacy. No doubt has Paris chosen one of them.

The way to get inside was to either sneak inside, scale the walls/trees to get into the garden, and then scale either the walls/trees _again_ to get into one of the balconies.

Both options aren't looking too good.

 _Or we could_ _use_ _magic... without getting caught?_

 _Mmm, no. Paris could probably sniff me from a mile away._

'So what's the plan?'

I place a hand on my jumping heart, twisting around to direct _what sounds like_ Minuet with an accusatory stare.

'This is the third heart attack of the day, and I swear, I don't think I can survive a fourth.' I huff, looking up to level him with with an annoyed glare. His emerald green eyes dancing with amusement, he smirks back down at me.

'What took you so long?' I lower my voice, becoming increasingly wary of my surroundings.

'Because of these.' Minuet presents something transparent, with no distinguishing colour, silky and thin. It slips through his fingers into my outstretched hands— it feels refreshingly cool to my warmer hands. Spreading it out, I'm more than startled to find that my arm is—

 _'Gone?!_ 'I gasp.

'Shh! And yes, it's and invisibility cloak. That hag was more than capable of simple magic. She didn't wait for the hunters to come to her.'

'Oh my God.' I breathe, fascinated. It's not everyday you get to touch something that seems like it jumped out of a fictional book.

'You knew we'd need this, didn't you?' I question, relieved at the prospect of entering the restaurant undetected.

'Yep. So fill me in. What's going on?'

'I was coming home from the cafe, and on the way back home, I saw Paris come out of his limo, with this other woman. She was _oozing_ with magic! It was so strong that even I could sense it from several yards away. I think he's going to pull the same trick he did with me...' Minuet has a strange expression on, seemingly mulling over something.

'That's a convenient coincidence.' I frown.

'Are you saying that this is all a ploy?' Minuet shakes his head, sighing.

'That's not what I meant. Don't you think it's a little _too_ coincidental for you to be walking home, exactly when Paris's supposedly "caught" someone?' As true as it is, I'm not willing on leaving a predator like Paris with _anyone_ affiliated with the gift of magic.

'Are you saying that he's trying to lure me in?'

'Look, all I can say is we'e got to be careful. It's my responsibility to make sure you're safe, and I can't jeopardise your safety in return for others.' I stare back, disbelieving.

'Well it's not like I can just leave a potential victim in the claws of that— that _monster!'_ I try to reason, incredulously.

'She's probably fallen into the same trap I did! And she doesn't seem to have the liberty of back-up... if worst comes to worst, she'll try to escape and somehow hurt herself in the process.' The scar on my upper thigh tingles, as if reminiscing my near-death experience.

'She's entering the restaurant with her freedom, and will come out _without_ it. Her life will never be the same. _I can't let it happen_.' I plead, in an effort to make him see sense.

'Not when I know how it feels. I know you made a promise... but you're going to risk the chance of breaking it.' Minuet sighs, defeated.

'(Y/n). I'm not protecting you because of a promise I made. I'm protecting you because _I want to._ ' He answers sincerely. My defensive walls break down, breathing hitching suddenly. I turn my face to the side, well aware of the burning sensation spreading across my cheeks.

'Thank you.' I murmur quietly, slightly overwhelmed by this gesture of affection. Really, he is as tsundere as anyone can get.

I am met with silence. Turning back towards him, I find him staring fixedly at a far away point in the distance, his pale skin tinted an unusual shade of red. He glances back at me, before slipping on his cloak.

'You're welcome.' I hurriedly slip on mine. Is he _blushing?_

Adjusting the cloak to cover the entirety of my figure, I glance up, eyes widening once I see Minuet is now visible, as well as the thin silhouette of the cloak covering him. I can faintly see the light pink flush of his cheeks.

 _Maybe it's the light levels messing with my vision?_

'I— I can see you Minuet.' That's the only thing I can think to say.

'She was certainly someone, wasn't she?' Minuet turns his head away, adjusting the cloak around his shoulders. I know he's referring to grandma, but that's the last thing on my mind. Although it is _very_ high-level magic, the only thing I can concentrate on is him- from the curious quirk of his lips, the fading colour of red vanishing from his cheekbones—

'Hello? Earth to (y/n)?' I abruptly snap to attention, inwardly berating myself for staring at him for too long.

'We can enter through the front entrance since we won't be seen.' I explain hurriedly, trying to cover up my blunder. 'But we'll have to wait for someone—"

'Over there.' Minuet points towards a car just come into the car park. Surely enough, a couple emerges from the car, making their way towards the entrance.

'Let's go.'

Soundlessly catching up to the pair, I find myself instinctively flinching at the close proximity between us and the couple. The lack of light keeps the two shrouded well in shadows, but as we approach them, fine little details starts to emerge.

The female wears her dark hair in a bun, kept together by many pins (pins only I and other people acquainted with the fine art of pinning your hair into a bun could see), with a crimson red dress. The male wears a stereotypical suit, black and white, arm looped with his wife(?) as they enter.

The glass doors automatically open as they pass through, I and Minuet hot on their heels. Velvety curtain before us draw back to reveal a massive, _massive_ room, not unlike ones found in mansions. The floor is a mix between mahogany red and white, antique tables are placed systematically throughout the room, with an orchestra assembled on the further right-hand corner of the room and a dance-floor just before it, to accommodate around 500+ people, give or take. One monstrously large chandelier hangs from the upper most ceiling, shedding light below and on the people near it, stairs looping against the walls, circling higher and higher until the people situated on them look as insignificant as ants. From here, everything splits off into monumenally large alcoves, some rooms for fine dining, others for casual mingling. It's loud, it's not my scene, and no person is as vociferous as the other.

I glance back at Minuet, and watch as he curiously drinks in our surroundings. It _is_ overwhelming to see for the first time, but I've been here before (on a work-experience excursion my school provided).

He freezes all of a sudden, nose turned upwards. 'Paris has passed through here,' he breathes, 'along with a strong scent of magic.'

I don't actually _know_ what magic smells like, but I am familiar with how it feels. I raise a questioning eyebrow at Minuet, who shruggs in turn, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

'I'm part cat. What did you expect?' I shake my head, smiling.

'Where does the scent lead?' Minuet sniffs the air once more, before pointing forwards.

'Those stairs?' See? Of _course_ Paris would apply for the more secluded rooms. Minuet's point forwards leads into a quieter section of the restaurant, different stairs leading to the balconies with more private rooms for... "meetings". Or that's what we're told.

'It'll be upstairs.' I slip my hand through his by the fabric of our oversized cloaks, and follow the path leading further down the hall, towards the end where a grand but darkly secluded staircase stands, red velvety steps with white banisters curling higher in progression to the upper most floors. I look back, only to find a burning up Minuet, jade green eyes set on our interlocked hands.

I look back to the front, heart thudding an uneven beat. This is the second time I've caught him blushing. Or perhaps he's ill? _I don't know what to think anymore!_

As we reach the next floor, Minuet shakes his head.

'He's only passed through here.' And so I lead him up to the corresponding floors, until we found ourselves on the fifth floor.

'He's somewhere here.' Minuet hisses.

And that's when the fear sets in.

My hands fall limply to my side, numb, unaware of Minuet's warmth as it becomes stone cold. The suffocating presence of magic floods my senses, it's thick aroma jumbling up my thoughts. Hysteria sets in. Whispers of doubt claw their way into my mind, asking me if I'm _prepared to be captured again_. To take on the role of a slave witch. To account to my master's needs. To be treated as _lower_ than subhuman.

 _Am I really doing this?_

'(Y/n), there's a balcony roof above this building. We'll be able to observe them from a safer distance up there. But we'll have to find the entrance fir— (y/n)?'

'I— I'm fine...' I whisper, tears pricking the corner of my eyes. Concern creases his features, brows drawing together to form a frown.

Minuet's eyes dart this way and that, before settling on a black door at the far left. Hand still interlocked with mine, he gently leads me to the door. There is virtually nobody on fifth floor, as the balconies and rooms were the only place used for dining. Muted silence prevailed, all places soundproofed for ultimate privacy.

Wrapping a supportive arm around my torso, he leads me up the stairs to the roof. The cool air outside is a blessing to my feverish skin, the breeze dancing across my cheekbones soothingly. I promptly grab onto a railing, gulping up air as if I'm starved. Minuet leans on the rail next to me, patiently waiting as I regain my bearings.

'Better?' He asks.

'Better.' I confirm. At this point I've already taken off the cloak, finding very little reason to hide myself when the likelihood of discovery is low. Minuet had too, the thin fabric hanging over his arm.

The wind may have stopped my claustrophobic nightmare, but it does little to stifle the suffocating presence of magic. _God,_ it's so strong. _Just what does that woman think she is doing?_

'Suicide mission.' I manage to whisper. 'You can't continuously let out that amount of magic without some sort of storage vessel.'

❝ _A sorcerer who transfers large amounts of magic vigorously for_ _an extended period of time place a great burden on their body._ ❞ Minuet quotes, from a book I've been reading recently. I nod, anxious.

A beat. 'I also brought something else, you know,' Minuet comments, reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out this spherical, transparent glass ball of...

 _'Fire?'_ He carefully hands it to me, it's potent flame dancing vigorously. This one's vividly blue, and arguably more powerful than natural fire; from the rapid way it curls around and beats the sides of the sphere, to the way it lights my hands in blazing bonfires of sapphire blue, practically itching to get out. It emits a strange sort of energy, only one magic could provide.

' _This_ one, once thrown, will create a straight line of fire, and will continue to so long as it has something to cling onto. Careful though, it catches anything and everything it touches on fire. I thought it would be helpful for separating Paris and whoever-she-is.' I grip the glass ball, processing what he's just said.

'Well, anything to stop me from using magic.' I murmur, shoulders slouching in relief. This _would_ make things easier.

I straighten, resolve hardening. I don't _need_ magic. I can... I can do this.

'We have to find them. Pronto.' A new sense of strength has taken ahold of me, a glimmer of light in what could be seen as a hopeless situation.

The sky is alight with the stars of the universe, and the only thing I can hear is my irregular breathing and Minuet's more steady pace; the distant murmur of the restaurant down below now muted, the only sound being the occasional whisper of wind passing by.

The world comes crashing down once a high pitched scream breaks the tranquility of the night.

 _"You keep on screaming_ _' **c**_ _ **ause nobody can hear you**._ _"_

It was malevolent, the words of a psycho laced with disrespect and loathing.

I only have one shot at this.

Hold on tight.


	9. Chance

Minuet quickly slips the cloak over himself, and I follow suit as we sprint to the source of the scream. I race forwards, legs moving on auto-pilot mode as I grab onto the extended rooftop ledge, eyes zoning on the scene below me. Heartbeat thudding relentlessly in my ears, I watch in animated horror.

We're too late.

The woman is gasping loudly, each frantic breath mirroring my own. Matt blacks chains wrap around her wrist as she pulls; a feeble attempt at escape, trembling. She slowly inches away from Paris; the chains restricting her progress greatly, its pull too strong. While her back is to the door, Paris's back is to the balcony. They are on opposite sides, and it seems like Paris is winning.

Something glints in his eyes. He seems to have a calmer, more contained exterior. But his eyes dance with triumph, lips twisting into a victorious smirk as he pulls without much effort, causing the captured woman to jerk forwards abruptly. A thin sheet of sweat covers her otherwise perfect brow, creasing up in concentration as she pulls back, breathing becoming increasingly ragged.

 _The magic..._ Dawning horror creeps on my face. _The chains, they absorb the magic!_

It seems as though the young lady had come to that conclusion too. With a gasp, she locks eyes with Paris.

'Andromeda, Andromeda, Andromeda...' Paris shakes his head, tutting. 'You're a smart woman. You know better than anybody that resisting will only do you harm.' As he speaks, the chains continue to siphon the magic from the atmosphere in ample amounts. This only serves to weaken Andromeda further, whose shoulders slump in exhaustion.

 _Andromeda_ snarls, breathing heavily, 'You will _never—_ '

At that moment, I lock eyes with Minuet, grip tightening on the glass ball of fire in my hands. I raise my arm, and taking aim.

 _Please say all those sessions of basketball was of some use!_

Hurling the ball of blue flame at the duo, it cuts cleanly through the air and smashes onto the table, interrupting Andromeda mid-sentence.

It serves as a barrier, cutting past the chains and onto the table, covering it in searing blue flames. Paris reels back in shock.

'What the hell?!' He yells irritated, slight fear and confusion evident on his face.

The chains provide suction to the magic powering the fire, but is absorbed amongst blue quickly. Andromeda yanks the chain through the flames, and teeters backwards on her heels. Her hand grasps at the door behind her, fumbling for the doorknob.

'I'm going down there.' With no other warning, Minuet launchs himself off the balcony, changing formation mid-air into a cat. The cloak flies off him as he taps onto the floor gracefully, and swipes at the chains clasped around Andromeda's wrist, freeing her.

At this point, the flames have increased in height, reaching for the sky with it's vivid azure fingers. It is just as beautiful as it is lethal, its flames whipping around, unstable.

Minuet looks up, levelling me with a stare.

 _Shoot._

I jump into action, abruptly twisting around and sprinting down the stairs. I enter the floor Minuet, Paris and Andromeda are at, finding the correct balcony in no time thanks to the walls reflecting the aquamarine lighting of the flames. I swing open the door.

 _Woah._

In person, the flames are quadruple my height. It provides covering from Paris, crackling dangerously, spitting cinders.

The terror of the night and flames of the fire reflect in Andromeda's glassy blue eyes. She blanches, bracing herself to scream again at the disembodied hand reaching out to her.

' _WAIT—_ let me take this of first!' I yell, seemingly scaring Andromeda more. I rip the cloak off.

'Oh... my... GOD.' Andromeda wheezes, clutching her chest through bloodied fingers as Minuet transforms back to his human state behind her. Andromeda is much too preoccupied with me to register the disappearance of the cat.

She gapes. 'How—' A hand clasps over her shoulder.

'We should get moving, if we don't want Paris on our heels.' Minuet speaks.

Andromeda passes out on the spot, fainting on an unamused Minuet.

'...'

'...'

'...At least this makes our job easier?'

'Here you go.' I grin, politely declining his offer.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

I slam my fist into the fire alarm, triggering the other alarms in the building to blare in symphonic terror too.

'FIRE AT THE TOP FLOOR!'

That's enough to send the entire building into meltdown.

The collective sound of alarms are drowned out by the thunder of feet and the agitated chatter of disgruntled guests, clearly irritated at their disaster of a night out. People jostle past each other, preoccupied with saving their own life more than anything.

Thanks to an unconscious Andromeda, currently carried by Minuet, we are able to create a beeline for the exit.

That, and a peeved off Minuet seems to ward of anybody and everybody within a five meter radius of him.

Personally, he just looks uncomfortable to me.

We exit through the fire exit along with the crowd, a flurry of suits and dresses migrating onto the streets in bursts of colour. Trying to act inconspicuous, we blend in with the surroundings, following a large sea of people walking to the left of the building.

A strong sense of foreboding takes ahold of me the second I lay eyes on a black limosine. A woman with snow-white hair sitting on the hood of the car scans the crowd expertly, searching for something— or rather someone. I feel my breath stop short as soon as Illion glances my way, cold cerulean eyes meeting with my own before someone passes by, blockimg my view.

And just like that, she looks away, apparently finding nothing of interest.

 _She didn't see me?_

I stop short and duck into the nearest alleyway, Minuet coming straight after.

'Did you see her?' I whisper harshly in the cacophony of noise. Minuet sets Andromeda down.

'Uh, who?' I look at him in faint disbelief.

'You didn't see Illion?'

Minuet pales.

'We get out of here. _Now._ ' I grimly nod in agreement. We may have done what we came for, but there is still the prospect of escaping unscathed, and the chances of that are looking pretty slim.

My eyes flicker back to Andromeda, who sits propped up on the wall, still unconscious. Her clothes are partly ripped along the abdomen and sides with a few cuts on her bare shoulders, but, apart from the occasional tear here and there, she looks more or less OK.

I crouch next to her, examining her wrist. I wince at the shredded mess of skin I see. The bastard's chains must have cut into her just like it did to my thigh. There are deeper slashes on her wrist coated in blood with some bright pink flesh showing, veins left uncut but still shown. I grimace. The only way I can deal with this effectively is to use healing-based magic, though I'm more than sure I'd attract unwanted attention.

I could _really_ do without that.

Ripping part of my shirt, I apply pressure to the cuts, trying to decrease the amount of blood spilling out. I rip apart the remaining parts of my sleeves and wrap the cloth around the injured woman's wrist, praying it to work as a makeshift bandage. Her fingers are encompassed in cracked, and dried blood.

Andromeda groans, eyes fluttering open.

'Wh- What happened...?' Her voice sounds thick and disorientated. 'Where's Paris..?'

Minuet offers a half-hearted smile.

'Hopefully, he's getting burnt alive right now.'

Andromeda blinks, and then smiles weakly.

'Good.'


	10. Expectation

_He could hear her._

 ** _Silence singing in the darkness._**

Darkness stretched around him, occasionally ripped apart by bright, amber lights. The glint of ultramarine orbs, locked upon it's target.

 _It was bright._

 ** _Yet he could only see the dark._**

The glisten of stars, the moon, the night sky, its white sheen cutting through the matte black night, bold, shimmering, enduring.

 _He could smell it._

 ** _The absence of fragrance, the comforting scent of home._**

The burning scent of fire. The ferocity of the wind, whipping the flames into place; guiding the fire to circle around him in it's frenzied dance, threatening.

 _He could feel it._

 ** _Numbness coated his limbs, the heat, the hurt, the howling wind._**

He didn't ask for this. _He didn't ask for this._ _ **He didn't ask for this.**_

 _He could touch it._

 ** _Frozen, restricted, chains confining his waning trust._**

Blood coated his fingers, stinging. It was cracked in places where its dried out, encompassing his long, lithe, pale fingers in crimson.

 _He could see her, he could see reality._

 _ **And yet he was**_ _ **blind to the truth.**_

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

I sit crouched on the cobblestone floor, talking with the now conscious Andromeda in hushed tones. Minuet, Andromeda and I are currently hiding in an alleyway, approximately one hundred metres away from the diner. Our surroundings are composed of two dark houses on either side of us and a dead end; one high wall I'm sure Minuet is capable of jumping over. Myself? Not so much.

The only source of light is a yellow street lamp, bright enough to illuminate the street but not the alleyway itself.

Minuet leans against the brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, luminescent jade-green eyes set ahead. He visibly stiffens as two people walk past, shoulders drooping slightly as soon as they pass by.

His instincts scream at him to run, run and _never_ turn back, yet an incredible amount of self-control keeps him in place, rooted besides the two.

He sniffs the air, freezing. The pungent odour of burning tells him that the fire is still raging, even more ferociously than before, perhaps. Glancing upwards, he can see the upper floor of the restaurant, a good few hundred metres away, shining bright blue.

 _Oops._

We may have burnt down an entire floor.

Unintentionally, of course.

His eyes travel downwards, only now paying attention to their conversation.

'... without him or Illion seeing us.' I glance up at him, almost in apology. _Almost._

Minuet closes his eyes.

'So we'd have to sneak out somehow...' Andromeda trailes off, lightly tugging at the temporary bandages wrapped around her wrist. She grimaces at a particularly hard tug of hers, rubbing the covered wound feverishly.

I nod. 'The best thing we can do right now is to get out of here, stat. I'm betting Illion has already gone to rescue Paris. Can you stand?'

Minuet straightens as Andromeda nods. Placing both hands on either side of the floor, she pushes herself up, skin paling visibly. She stands perfectly still, then teeters on her heels uncertainly, eyes glazing over as she drops weakly into Minuet's outstretched arms.

'The chains took far too much.' Minuet shakes his head. I can't help but agree. Her skin is ashen white and her lively eyes are dulled, skin clammy from the effort.

'I-I'm...' She speaks breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut. 'I c-can't do it. I'm sorry.'

At that moment she looks so helpless, so powerless, so _weak,_ that it freezes me to the bone.

 _She could have died fighting._

I lean against the wall uncertainly, mirroring Minuet's former stance. I've made up my mind.

'Minuet. You carry her. Get out of here and take her to grandmama's cottage.' Minuet's ears perk up.

'And you'll be..?' I exhale shakily.

'I'll be right behind you.' Minuet hoists Andromeda into his arms bridal style, watching me dubiously.

'... How are you planning to get out of here, exactly?' I clutch the silky material of my cloak, pulling it out of my blazer's pocket.

'Don't worry about it. I've got this after all.' I crack a smile, waving the invisibility cloak under his nose, injecting confidence in my tone. My smile falters as he sends me an unconvinced look.

'Look, if we move now, then I can get out of here easily. If we keep on bickering, then we only waste time that could save us. Go.' I gently push him back.

'You can't be seriously thinking that I'd leave you alone with Paris, his bulter and potential back-up!' Minuet hisses, disbelievingly.

'You won't be. I don't plan on fighting.' _Liar._

'Promise me you won't do what I think you'll do.' He knows, he knows, he knows.

I manage to look him in the eyes. 'I promise.' _How am I any different to Paris? I'll only end up hurting him..._

 _Won't I?_

I attempt to reassure him, although it feels like a lost cause.

 _For the greater good? Or is this for my own selfish desires?_

 _I want to protect him. I have to protect him._

Minuet's ear twitches slightly, a conflicted expression haunting his face.

'Let me carry you both.'

'Minuet, I've already been on a date with him. I've learnt what the dos and don'ts are around his type of people. I know the mistakes I can make- which is all the more likely to happen if I have another person to worry about! If we split up, we lessen the chances of _all_ of us getting caught.'

 _'His type of people?_ You're not going back there.'

'I know, I've already promised that, haven't I?' I manage a small, false smile.

 _I'll only slow him down. We need a quick escape._

'You also have a chance of being caught alone. I can't let that happen.' He retorts back stubbornly.

He's not making it any easier.

'I'm afraid she's right.' Andromeda pipes up hoarsely. She coughs, shivering slightly. _A symptom of magic deficiency is a hypothermia. Andromeda needs to rest, immediately._

And it seems as if Minuet had thought the same.

He scowls to himself. There was no way he could stand here arguing all night, he'd only risk their safety.

Something he swore not to do.

'Fine. Get out of here, quickly. I'll meet you at Lillium's.' He mutters, relenting.

I sigh in relief. Covering myself in the cloak, I hesitate. _It may be the last I see of him._

That thought froze me in my tracks. I stare up at him, breathing uneven with fear.

He can't see me, not anymore. But he can hear me.

'(Y/n)?' _I've already made my mind up. I can't back down now._

I push myself up on my tiptoes, planting a kiss on his cheek. I turn away hurriedly, only just glimpsing his confused expression.

 _'Thank you.'_ I whisper. Minuet's face tightens up in shock.

 _'Wait!'_

The only answer he receives is the mournful caress of the breeze, brushing against his cheeks.


	11. Exhilaration

'I should _never_ have accepted his invitation.' Specks of crimson splatter the pristine white sheets as Andromeda coughs. Weakly, she lifts a hand to brush away some of the blood. She still hasn't fully registered what that metallic taste on her lips is. She still hasn't registered anything at all. She speaks as if in a trance, hoarse words spilling out of her lips, eyes a picture of wild, fearful uncertainty.

'He was charming. Like he had done this millions of times before. I decided to humour him. Lead him into his dance-' Minuet attempts to hush her gently, pressing a handkerchief to her lips.

'You need to rest. Here, drink this.' He presses a potion to her lips, willing her to accept it. He has no reason to deceive her into thinking this was anything but something that's going to put her to sleep. She's already had her trust broken once.

She simply stares up at him. Her eyes are dry, not a single tear in sight. The only emotion present is fear. Fear and acceptance, as though this is her fate all along.

Imperceptibly, she moved her chin forwards. Minuet tips the liquid into her mouth, watching with bated breath as she sinks back into the bed, the potion slowly eating away at her consciousness. Her expression changes from confusion, to exhaustion, to relief as she falls into deep sleep. Minuet waits for a while, then gently turns her head to the side. If there is any blood left, keeping her face upwards in her comatose state would only serve to kill her by suffocation.

Minuet, after literally carrying Andromeda to Lillium's cottage, laid her on Lillium's former bed set at the back of the cottage in a separate bedroom. And without a second's delay he searched frantically for a potion to subdue Andromeda.

What she has wasn't exactly life threatening, per se. The real problem was what it could develop into. If he could find something to put Andromeda to sleep, her vital functions would calm down and her magic reserves would slowly fill up. She was weak, yes, but as she is now, she was using magic to keep herself awake. It would only be a mater of time before she'd feed off her own life force, too.

Carrying herself to her grave, when she is doing her all to keep herself alive. The irony.

He exhales loudly, rubbing his face. Everything should be fine now... if his hunch is correct.

From the wealth of knowledge Lillium offered him throughout her lifetime, something had always stood out to him. There are certain classes of witches who are capable of certain things. Some are gifted in the art of warrior magic- magic used for combative purposes. Others were naturally born healers. Some wield the magic to utilise runes and sealing techniques.

When Minuet had asked which one of them Lillium was classified as, she simply smiled fondly, ruffling his hair.

 _'You'll realise. All in due time.'_

Petulantly, he shrugged off her hand, disappointed she hadn't confided in his eleven-year old self.

But now that he thinks about it, Lillium may have fallen under them all.

(Y/n) creating a barrier in her house, using runes to protect herself and Minuet from outside harm. (Y/n) throwing fireballs, screaming in fury as she relentlessly attacked Paris. (Y/n) physical scars healing quicker than her mental.

(Y/n), out there, equipped with all this, still unaware of her full potential.

Minuet shakes his head, forcing back down the waves of anxiety at (y/n)'s whereabouts and condition. How she is fairing out there is not his priority. Andromeda comes first, regardless of how much he aches to put (y/n) in her place.

His eyes wander off to the freshly wrapped bandages on Andromeda's wrists. When he'd peeled off (y/n)'s makeshift bandages, skin was already starting to form, her cuts creating clots to block off the relentless flow of blood. It was a mess, yes, but a mess that was slowly, but surely, clearing itself up.

Andromeda may fall under the healer's class.

So if her magic is only occupied with _healing_ her, and not keeping herself awake, Andromeda should be fine.

Minuet's eyes travels to her face. Her previously pale cheekbone's naturally rosy colouring returns slowly. Her breathing calms down. Her condition, stabilising.

The blood on the sheets, too, absorb into nothing. _Interesting._ If Andromeda is healing that rapidly, then perhaps it wouldn't be a risk to leave her be.

 _Perhaps._

He'd have to wait for a while before he could trust that decision.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The thunder of footsteps and the honking of cars increase in volume as I approach the restaurant. Staff pile out of the building, chattering loudly amongst themselves as some tried to usher the guests out of the way for emergency help to arrive.

'Blue fire? Are you sure...'

'It's orange _idiota,_ look...'

'... Needs to go to the opticians asap...'

'I saw blue fire too... blinked and then it changed colour...'

'... Perhaps the fire reacted with something...'

' _Puh-lease,_ I dropped chemistry for a reason...'

'Don't remind me of those days.'

'... Y'all joking around when somebody could have died?'

 _Could have died? Does that mean everybody is safe?_

I exhale, a sense of relief washing over me. Being responsible for someone else's death is a burden I am unwilling to bear. I glance up, seeing that the upper part of the building is tainted with soot, windows emitting orange flames. _At least it had changed quickly enough for them to be unsure about its colour._

The place is packed, cars moving at a sluggish pace as people hurry to escape, weaving around the cars and receiving enraged honks in return.

 _Now I've got to see what I can do to stop it._

 _Have I gone mad?_

I groan inwardly.

 _Yes, yes I have._

The restaurant doors are conveniently flung open. Swallowing thickly, I bound up the stairs of the front entrance, hands shaking uncontrollably as I enter,

I tighten the invisibility cloak around myself, shivering at the eeriness of it all. The sounds from the street fade away to nothing, yet chaos is still rampant. Tables upturned, chairs thrown around. The orchestra's instruments were left behind haphazardly, the table cloths strewn around the place. Lights dimmed, it looks like something out of a horror movie.

I inhale and take a tentative step forwards. And another. And another. My steps became faster and faster, until I'm practically running, adrenaline coursing through my body. While I run, I attempt to formulate a plan.

 _Getting rid of the fire, then getting the hell out of there is a must. I don't even need to enter the room, I'll just get rid of it from the outside. Can't be_ _ **that**_ _hard, right?_

The odour of burning bricks, stone and plastic appear, growing stronger with each floor. My lips twist in distaste as the stench replaces my taste buds with something crudely acrid. Biting my lips feverishly, I approach the fifth floor, hand enclosing around the door handle.

 _'OUCH! OW OW OW OW FU-'_ I curse loudly, clamping my lips shut and hopping from one foot to the other, shaking my dominant hand all the while. The silhouette of the door handle is engraved into my palm, leaving an angry, red mark. I blow on it, the hot, burning sensation from the door handle only tripling to stinging agony as I grit my teeth in pain.

I'm heavily tempted to use healing magic, but of course, what to do if Illion and Paris are waiting on the other side to ambush me?

This would only hinder my progress further, I decide, and tap on the door handle lightly with my lesser dominant hand. It's _hot._ Burning _hot._ Even after I'd removed my hand, the heat lingers on my finger tips further. So, I reach a conclusion. A conclusion that says that beyond that door is undoubtedly fire.

The second I open that door, the fire would surge forwards, feeding hungrily on new air and new material. So either I absorb it, or repel it with a stronger force.

On the count of three, I fling the door open, chanting under my breath. Fire is my speciality, I can absorb it. After all, this is powered with magic.

The anti-climatic moment is met with nothing.

Half-burnt curtains flap aimlessly in the wind, its silent whispers of disbelief moaning eerily throughout the room, carrying debris and other burnt material. The floor is damaged heavily- whatever material it's made of was strong enough to outlive the fire. Yet it feels like it could crash and fall at any moment.

A sea of ashes coat the ground in ample amounts, crunching as I step over it. Who did this? Who could possibly have the skill and knowledge to extinguish a fire with this type of force?

Not Paris. _Deeeefinitely_ not Paris. I wouldn't have stood a chance against him if this was the case.

So if not him, who?

A shape hidden within the wreckage catches my eye. I crouch, and reach out to it, fishing it amongst the dead material.

My heartbeat speeds up, a steadily increasing thrum thudding throughout my body and my fingertips as I handle the object.

It's darker than the debris itself. Dusting off what I can from it, it's shape becomes visible.

My.

Heart.

Stops.

A chill descends on my neck. Suddenly, what _feels_ like encompassing loneliness vanishes.

I turn around, and run.

Run, and never turn back.

Clutched between my fingers, the object burns as it presses onto my burnt fingertips. My deepest fears answer,

 _Yes._


End file.
